f. But this place! It was built mostly
of a sort of dull rose-colored stone, with here and there some clear
white houses; and it lay abroad among the green groves and gardens like
a broken rosary of pink coral.

"Those big white ones are public buildings evidently," Terry declared.
"This is no savage country, my friend. But no men? Boys, it behooves us
to go forward most politely."

The place had an odd look, more impressive as we approached. "It's like
an exposition." "It's too pretty to be true." "Plenty of palaces, but
where are the homes?" "Oh there are little ones enough--but--." It
certainly was different from any towns we had ever seen.

"There's no dirt," said Jeff suddenly. "There's no smoke," he added
after a little.

"There's no noise," I offered; but Terry snubbed me--"That's because
they are laying low for us; we'd better be careful how we go in there."

Nothing could induce him to stay out, however, so we walked on.

Everything was beauty, order, perfect cleanness, and the pleasantest
sense of home over it all. As we neared the center of the town the
houses stood thicker, ran together as it were, grew into rambling
palaces grouped among parks and open squares, something as college
buildings stand in their quiet greens.

And then, turning a corner, we came into a broad paved space and
saw before us a band of women standing close together in even order,
evidently waiting for us.

We stopped a moment and looked back. The street behind was closed by
another band, marching steadily, shoulder to shoulder. We went
on--there seemed no other way to go--and presently found ourselves quite
surrounded by this close-massed multitude, women, all of them, but--

They were not young. They were not old. They were not, in the girl
sense, beautiful. They were not in the least ferocious. And yet, as I
looked from face to face, calm, grave, wise, wholly unafraid, evidently
assured and determined, I had the funniest feeling--a very early
feeling--a feeling that I traced back and back in memory until I caught
up with it at last. It was that sense of being hopelessly in the wrong
that I had so often felt in early youth when my short legs' utmost
effort failed to overcome the fact that I was late to school.

Jeff felt it too; I could see he did. We felt like small boys, very
small boys, caught doing mischief in some gracious lady's house. But
Terry showed no such consciousness. I saw his quick eyes darting here
and the